


still it continues green and fresh

by concernedlily



Series: much good [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Family Feels, M/M, Sentient Atlas, paladin bonds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-12 22:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16880127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concernedlily/pseuds/concernedlily
Summary: The Garrison is rebuilding and so is Keith.





	still it continues green and fresh

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ataraxetta for beta! <3 <3 <3

When the black lion had crash-landed to Earth it had caused structural damage to the foundations of every Garrison building a mile around and directly wrecked a staff canteen, six pre-fab cabins repurposed from classrooms into refugee dorms, a solar generator, and the hangar where the Calypso had been gently rusting because they couldn’t afford to power the environmental controls to preserve it anymore. 

“ - draw your attention to the third page of the architectural proposals -” Commander Holt is saying, but Keith’s attention is on the bead of sweat pearling its way from the damp and darkened silver hair at Shiro’s temple towards the corner of his eye.

“Hey,” he murmurs. He steps in close and nudges Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro startles and gives him an abstracted smile, all distance and angles and wrongness, and Keith revises his easy assumption that Shiro is just hot under the desert sun. The realisation blanks out the idle thoughts he was entertaining of following the skin-warm salt-traces with his tongue (when Shiro spends a full day on paperwork, like he had just yesterday, there’s the very faintest beginnings of crow’s-feet there by the end of the day and Keith had kissed them relaxed and smooth again on his way down to Shiro’s mouth) and he says, “Are you okay?”

Shiro’s clenching his fist, so hard his fingers look painfully white. Keith wants to take his hand and rub his thumb over the crescent dents he’s pretty sure he’ll find in Shiro’s palm, but although their relationship isn’t a secret at all he doesn’t know how Shiro feels about making it obvious when they’re both in uniform, especially since the grand tour of the Garrison’s renovation plans has some of the most senior people on both the Earth and the Coalition sides in attendance.

Shiro is the one who reaches for him. Keith twines their fingers together, their palms pressing together hot and grimy. It’s a little gross: Keith hadn’t missed the light coating of red dust that ended up on everything he owned when he lived out in the shack, but he doesn’t really mind it either. He’s never been picky about his own comfort and even months after getting Shiro out of Black’s consciousness he remembers the endless, airless sky where he'd found Shiro and likes to remind Shiro he has a body any chance he gets.

Nobody seems to notice, or if they do they don’t seem to have an issue with it. Keith and Shiro are straggling behind most of the group by now so the only one who watches them walk to the next building site hand-in-hand is his mom, her lips thin with concern even after Keith gives her the subtle signal for _okay_ from the communications they’d worked out together in the quantum abyss.

It’s not until he glances back from the gentle hill they’ve walked up back towards the main campus that he starts to figure out what might be going on with Shiro, and it hits him with a mix of guilt for not thinking about it earlier and amazement, still, that Shiro really does love him too, just as strong and deep as Keith feels for him. 

The terrain here used to be flat, regular. The old buildings had been levelled and rebuilding plans well in progress by the time he’d been awake, never mind back on his feet and out of the hospital - but the wreckage of the black lion after his death spiral down to Earth must have been terrible. Shiro had been the one to get him, Black not responding to anyone else’s coaxing to open her jaws and allow the rescue of her wounded paladin; Keith’s asked him about it, once, but Shiro had distracted him in the best way possible, pulling him into clinging intense sex, and he hadn’t tried again. 

If he’d understood that something as straightforward as seeing the months-old damage to Garrison would get to Shiro this badly, he would have. He squeezes Shiro’s hand, feeling the familiar faint quiver that’s Shiro stopping his muscles trembling with sheer force of will, and when Shiro glances at him he checks fast that nobody is looking at them and leans in for a reassuring quick kiss. Shiro’s lips have cracked a little, from the dry heat or from his own teeth worrying at them, a shimmery taste of copper on his lower lip when Keith licks at it, quick and heady. Shiro breathes a shuddery breath into Keith’s mouth before he kisses back, turning it a little longer than Keith had meant, his eyes closed, chasing the moment like he’s wishing he was anywhere else.

“You want to duck out?” he says. They’re still so close and Keith watches, entranced, as Shiro licks at the dry split in his lip with the edges curled up just a little and his eyes still shut, like he’s trying to find Keith’s taste there. When he flickers his eyes open Keith is spellbound the heavy sadness in his gaze, the frustrated way he glances at the crowd they’ve fallen behind, Shiro’s fingers flex in his, the lingering moment feeling just like it does when they’re together in their room, luxuriating in one another’s company, and Keith knows Shiro is thinking about pulling him close, kissing him properly. He wishes they were alone, that they could kiss, touch; Keith’s not great at knowing what’s best to say still, although he’s trying, but his body always works perfectly with Shiro’s, whether it’s Shiro helping him with the slog of training back up to fighting condition or in bed together.

“No, this is important,” Shiro says, like Keith knew he would, but Keith’s been able to see through Shiro’s golden boy facade ever since he watched Shiro take a reckless, amazing dive off a cliff and he can see the effort behind it. Shiro’s a great leader: part of Keith will always be looking to him as the head of Voltron and considering what he’d do before Keith himself decides on the best course of action. But the thing that’s inspired Keith most as he’s learned to be responsible for their team is that doing the right thing is a choice for Shiro, not just something that comes automatically to him; that it can be learned, every damn day.

“Okay,” Keith says. “Just say the word, okay? I can get us out of this whenever you want.” Shiro raises an eyebrow at him, sceptical and indulgent, at least seeming to let Keith’s promise tease him a little out of his dark mood. It’s not an idle promise, though: unlike Shiro, Voltron’s time isn’t scheduled by the Garrison and he can make up some issue he needs Shiro’s help with. It’s not even that necessary that they be on the tour, he knows there’s reams of papers on the plans somewhere in his emails, and sometimes knowing when your team is in over their head and need rescued is part of being a leader, too.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Shiro says, too lightly to be going to take Keith up on it. But he’s smiling at Keith, looking relaxed and soft, and Keith feels warm inside at having made him feel better. Shiro gives him another short, fond kiss before he turns back to the moving group, setting them a loose jogging pace to catch up, but he doesn’t let go of Keith’s hand.

***

They go their separate ways after the tour, which was long enough Keith is actually feeling it in his shoe leather: he’s more built for lightning strike combat than he is a hike round the entire Garrison campus and beyond. The place is going to be a construction site for years and double the size of the base Keith had gone to school at by the time it’s finished. 

That part is Shiro’s job. Keith’s job, as Voltron’s leader, is to help Allura encourage their Coalition allies to offer funds and resources make it happen, Earth still limping to get its people housed and watered and fed, never mind use the technology of its new allies to make major infrastructure and defence upgrades. There’s plenty of other remnants of the Empire the Coalition will need to go out and mop up sooner rather than later, but Sendak seems to have been the only one still pursuing Zarkon’s expansion agenda. At least Allura does all the hard work, and Keith isn’t required to do much more than show up, look pretty in his paladin armour, and if necessary contribute something earnest about how great Earth is and how much it needs their help as the latest and hopefully last victim of the Galra’s attempts at planetary destruction. 

Fortunately for Keith’s aching legs, today is only a planning meeting with Allura and Coran and he only has to look a little bit pathetic to get Allura to take pity on him and suggest they all go get an early dinner. Romelle appears from somewhere as they head over to the canteen, and Lance rounds it out with a homing pigeon instinct for joining Allura in her free time. He misses Shiro, though: sometimes they eat together, but Shiro is being cagey about his plans for tonight, which usually means he’s overscheduled and at best will grab a sandwich while he works and at worst skip dinner altogether. 

He’s still tired, thinking wistfully of heading back to their room and maybe grabbing a quick post-dinner nap (he can sneak Kosmo onto the bed while Shiro isn’t there); fortunately, as usual Lance and Coran carry about three quarters of the conversation between them, ably assisted by Romelle, so it doesn’t take much work. 

The whole thing is pleasant and easy and so he’s unprepared for when Allura, last to finish, puts her fork down with a decisive clink. 

“Lance, Keith,” she says. “While we’re all together, there’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you both.”

Lance and Keith exchange a nervous glance. “Okay,” Keith says cautiously. 

“It’s time to think about changing our armours,” Allura says quietly. She’s looking down at her plate, adjusting the cutlery slightly even though they’re immaculately placed already, of course. Keith glances at Coran and finds him twirling the end of his moustache, gaze on Allura with concern but no surprise: they’ve obviously talked about it already. Keith looks back at Allura and she’s watching him, looking guilty but with that quiet confidence and resolve of when she knows she’s making the best decision. 

“No,” Keith says automatically. He likes his red armour, but more than that - the black armour is _Shiro’s_. Keith’s bond with Black is steady and strong, he’s not running from the responsibility anymore, but the armour seems like a step too far. Keith can’t even imagine putting it on. 

“Keith,” Allura says in her most reasonable, and therefore most annoying, voice. “We’re very much settled now, aren’t we? And Shiro is content with the Atlas; he’s no longer even wearing paladin armour. With the Coalition growing again it would be a help to have the pilots match the lions once more.”

“ _No_ ,” Keith says, alarmed. He likes being able to just be, without people recognising him immediately all of them get some attention just walking around, with a sliding scale of enjoyment from Lance to Keith, but he can envisage how much worse it would be if he was marked out as the black paladin.

He’s kept his Blades uniform. It’s handy for when he really needs anonymity: there’s nothing like a full-face mask for reassurance. It represents a part of his life he values, even before he’d found his mom there; he wouldn’t give up that memory even if Kolivan himself said there was a galaxy-wide shortage of skintight black fabric and asked him for it back. Although he has a more private reason for keeping it as well., one he wouldn’t admit to anyone; he hadn’t missed the way Shiro had looked at him when he’d landed back on the Castle in a suit straining with the growth of two years of nothing to do but try to beat his own records of how many push-ups he could do with his dog lying on his ass. He’s waiting for the right time to break it out in the bedroom, like ten years in or something, when the honeymoon period has worn off.

“I’m okay with it,” Lance says, smiling at Allura, who doesn’t notice; she and Coran are exchanging one of their _humans!_ glances. “I look good in red.”

Allura sighs. “Thank you, Lance. Just think about it, please, Keith. It’s not urgent.”

“Sure,” Keith says, intending to think about it never. “Enjoy the rest of the evening, guys. I’m going to head back.”

***

Shiro’s in their room when Keith gets back, which is a bit surprising, and still working, which isn’t. He’s already turning and reaching for Keith when he steps inside, though, smiling despite the squinting signs of strain, and Keith goes right to him. He’s still not quite used to the way Atlas communicates with Shiro, more intense than the lions which after ten thousand years have their own secrets, but she’d lit him an unnecessary but friendly path from the cargo bay to their quarters so he’d figured on her letting Shiro know he was on his way.

“I brought you dessert,” Keith says, dropping the boxed cheesecake on the desk next to Shiro’s datapad. Shiro has a real sweet tooth, so he’s flattered that while Shiro mumbles a dutiful thank you all his focus is on pulling Keith down into his lap for a kiss as passionate as if they saw each other four months ago rather than four hours.

“You okay?” Keith says when they break apart, running his fingers through Shiro’s hair.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, gazing up at him, calm now; those tiny wrinkles at the corner of his eyes are back, though, and Keith thumbs at them, strokes the trailing edge of Shiro’s white eyebrow, the little hairs prickling softly against the pad, some of them sticking up until Keith smoothes them down again, Shiro’s eyes crossing as he tries to follow Keith’s actions.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna shower, and by the time I’m done…”

“I’ll be done with all this,” Shiro promises, a real smile breaking across his face, and Keith is idiot-teenager breathless all over again at how handsome he is.

He gets all of one step away before Shiro pulls him back down again, the long muscles of his thighs firm and comfortable under Keith’s ass. He makes it seem smooth but Keith has learned to recognise when the new arm is reacting to some impulse a little differently than Shiro would consciously like, and this is one of the times, Shiro hugging him tighter than usual, and Keith presses back into his chest automatically. It’s not like it’s a hardship to cuddle up to Shiro: he thinks in the long run they might both be happier if they were doing it in bed and naked together, but they can fool around a while first if that’s what Shiro needs. 

Shiro is undoing his Garrison jacket now, slowly, like Keith might not notice, slipping the buttons of the collar free and starting on the surplice as he uses the sudden slack in the fabric to nuzzle the bared nape of Keith’s neck, testing his teeth just a little on the rounded knob at the top of Keith’s spine. It makes Keith shiver, the cold tip of Shiro’s nose nudging hair aside to press into the tender hollow of the base of Keith’s skull, where Black’s intensity aches most after a long day in the pilot’s seat. That was why he’d been out so long, they’d told him eventually, after his clean bill of health: the head injury wasn’t so much from the crash-landing as from the blowback from his link with Black as the robeast had self-destructed. He knows from things he doesn’t think they’d really meant to let him hear in the hospital how he’d been found, bleeding from his ears and nose and eyes: Shiro had seen him like that and he wishes to God he hadn’t had to, can suddenly feel that memory in the way Shiro is touching him now, lightly-controlled freneticism and desperate passion.

He feels it when Shiro takes a deep, shuddering breath and he bows his head to give him greater access, covering Shiro’s hands with his on his chest for a second before he starts to help, unbuttoning from the bottom with suddenly clumsy fingers.

“I want you,” Shiro mumbles into Keith’s skin, and the plainness of it makes Keith ache. He wants badly to touch Shiro.

“I’m right here,” he says, moans when Shiro abandons his open jacket in favour of sliding his hand down, massaging the thickening bulge of Keith’s cock through his pants.

“Kiss me,” Shiro demands and Keith leans back against his shoulder, grips Shiro’s hair and pulls him down so he can find Shiro’s mouth with his for a hungry kiss.

Keith guesses he’s not showering, and Shiro isn’t finishing whatever he was doing - good - because he knows without any doubt that Shiro is _right here_ with him, in what they’re doing; not least because the constant hum of Atlas has deepened all around them, responding in a way Keith hopes to God nobody else on the crew has connected with Shiro getting laid.

Shiro makes an unsteady noise into his mouth and then he’s being spilled off Shiro’s lap, twisting in his arms to keep the kiss going, wrapping one thigh around Shiro’s as Shiro hoists him up for the few steps over to the couch. Keith sprawls on it, staring up at Shiro with what he knows is sheer greed all over his face, Shiro holding his gaze. 

He’d devoted a lot of time over the years to imagining what Shiro’s face might look like in the grip of desire, built feverishly around a half-glimpse of Shiro pressed up against a wall in a shadowy hallway, Adam’s hand between his legs, before he’d coughed and they’d broken apart. Shiro, at least, had been embarrassed about it, but Keith had guiltily treasured that stolen image for years. Shiro turned on as hell looks like he does when he’s flying, fighting; intent, almost severe, his eyes stormy grey. He’s given away though by the hot colour on his cheeks and the urgent paleness of his fingers as he undoes his jacket, leaves it hanging, unbuckles his belt, and Keith’s hips twitch restlessly up from the couch in helpless response: Shiro fucks better than he flies and that’s saying something.

“God, Keith,” Shiro murmurs, already sounding as wrecked as if he’s had Keith’s cock down his throat, but he’s only just kneeling, shouldering Keith’s knees apart. Keith groans, his hands flying down outside his conscious control to undo his pants, too into it to even bother lifting up to shove them down. He just pulls his dick out and feeds it straight between Shiro’s lips.

Shiro sucks cock like Keith’s the one doing him a favour, like he loves it. It’s not so much technique as how much he’s into having his mouth full of dick, making ragged noises that vibrate around Keith. He’s figured out what Keith likes long ago but Keith knows what Shiro likes too: for Keith to make noise, to get a lot of touch while he’s kneeling, to feel especially strongly the connection that’s always been between them. None of that’s difficult to provide, even through his mind being melted out of him by Shiro’s clever lips and tongue and a tiny reckless bit of teeth. He just keeps his hands on Shiro, right where they want to be anyway, petting his hair and stroking his jaw and cupping his chin; moans and murmurs freely, telling Shiro what he’s feeling, how good Shiro is making him feel; takes Shiro’s hand when he scrambles it up Keith’s stomach, when Keith eases himself carefully in so Shiro is taking him a little deeper, the sensitive head of his cock rubbing against the silky soft back of Shiro’s tongue.

Shiro’s other hand is busy too. He’s efficient with it, whether it’s conscious or completely reacting to what Shiro desperately wants,and Keith can not mind the weirdness of seeing the forearm moving around on its own when it means he gets to see Shiro pushing his pants down at the back, the fingers dripping with lube, gets to fucking feast his eyes on Shiro’s thick fingers pushing smoothly inside and Shiro’s full-body shudder, so heavy-lidded relaxed that for a shiny moment Keith slips into his throat.

It’s just that second of heaven and then his cock is free, bouncing back against his stomach and smearing against his uniform, cold, and Keith groans and grips himself, fucks up hard into the poor substitute of his fist. “Shiro -” he says.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, his grin something between wicked and needy, gorgeous, and he strips the rest of his clothes off and climbs into Keith’s lap without another word.

They don’t need any words. Keith just holds his dick for Shiro to sink down on it, one hand anchored on Keith’s shoulder, shirt pushed aside and Shiro running his slick fingertips absently over Keith’s collarbone like he can’t touch Keith’s skin without turning it into a caress, the other propped on the back of the couch. The look on Shiro’s face as he takes cock is even better than the tight warmth of his hole and Keith gazes at him, knowing there’s some stupid besotted look on his own face and unable to care. Seeing Shiro like this, stealing some time away from carrying the world and letting Keith make him feel good, never gets old; it’s never going to, not soon, not when they’re old themselves, because Keith’s never walking away from this and Shiro’s never going to have to walk away from Keith to get what he needs, what he wants. It’s so good Keith can’t help fantasising about it all the damn time, sometimes even while he’s actually getting it. 

“Good?” he says, pulling himself back to right now, then, “ _fuck_ ,” his voice scraped, as Shiro squeezes down on him. He turns his face, nuzzles into the crook of Shiro’s elbow, bites him there when Shiro does it again. 

“Hey,” Shiro protests, laughing. It sounds raw and Keith has a confused moment of missing Shiro’s mouth even while he’s balls-deep in his ass, Shiro’s weight settled on his lap for a few seconds, Shiro working him so good from the inside, before Shiro’s thickly muscled thighs flex and he starts to ride, slow and powerful. He murmurs, “I got something better you can do with your mouth,” and Keith tilts his face up to be kissed, filthy kisses, wet and deep and hot. 

They kiss until Shiro’s rhythm starts to break and Keith grabs his cock between them, starts to jerk it, Shiro’s head tipping back as he pants. He’s gleaming with sweat and Keith leans forward to lick at the hollow of his throat, down his chest, his tongue lingering on the smooth, sensitive scar tissue he finds all over. 

His own orgasm is an afterthought until it isn’t, Shiro thrusting down hard onto him, and even as he’s spinning into it he’s trying to bring Shiro with him. He doesn’t quite manage it before his fist goes limp with the pleasure firing through his hips to his whole body, stars behind his eyes. He moans, exhausted and happy, when Shiro clenches down on his oversensitised dick in a teasing reminder, says, “Yeah, okay. You want…?”

“I want to come on your cock,” Shiro says, his soft voice a contrast to the filthy command of the words, the needy look in his eyes, and Keith blows out air like a gut punch, grabs Shiro’s cock again and pulls him down to kiss through Shiro’s climax, swallowing the cry he makes at the end. 

It’s hard to move after but lying down together now and then moving later when they’re all sleepy is going to be even worse, so Keith lets Shiro take him to bed. It’s not far at all but they keep their hands on each other the whole way, still in that soft, intimate post-sex haze. Shiro snags the cheesecake Keith brought back for him and they share it in bed. Keith’s too tired to get it up again yet even when Shiro licks crumbs off the pads of Keith’s fingers and then sucks them gently, batting his eyelashes at Keith to make him laugh. 

There’s a pop in the other room and a minute later Kosmo is padding in to say hello. Keith has no idea what the wolf actually does all day on base but whatever it is, it keeps him really busy. He seems to know everyone and everyone knows him, although maybe that isn’t so unusual given there’s only one teleporting cosmic wolf around. It makes Keith even more glad they found him; Kosmo’s too sociable to have spent his life stuck alone on a space whale. 

“I have stuff to finish,” Shiro says when they’re done, vaguely. He twitches towards the open door, the tablet still lit up out there, but he doesn’t move to get out of bed. 

“Nope,” Keith says decisively. He wrestles Shiro into lying down, drapes his arm over his chest and his leg over Shiro’s thighs. “You’re done for the night. Atlas, lights.”

The bedroom light turns off instantly - the ship doesn’t often respond to him but she’s always a willing collaborator when it comes to taking care of Shiro - and Keith can just see his smile in the chilly blue glow of his arm as he cranes up to kiss the Shiro goodnight. 

***

“Fuck,” Keith says, and by the time he’s biting off the k he’s awake. Shiro is still under his arm and he buries his face in his chest for a moment, feeling his regular breathing up and down, the warmth and comforting scent of his skin. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, sounding calm and fully awake, and Keith sighs as he starts to stroke Keith’s hair. It was predictable after the day they’d had: the confused dreams he’d had, mixing the image of Black crashed in the desert with scrambling into the cockpit after the right with Zarkon to find Shiro gone, are already fading. So many of his nightmares are about losing Shiro but they haven’t been so bad since Keith started waking up in bed with him, Shiro never minding whatever Keith needs to do to remind himself Shiro is safe and real. He says, “You too?”

“Never quite got to sleep,” Shiro confesses, his voice deliberately light, and Keith kisses his chest in silent understanding. He’s glad Shiro is still here, hopes it helped him even a little to deal with whatever was going around in his brain: he hates to be inactive and Keith knows that on the Castle he would’ve been up, working and thinking and training, rather than stay in a bed where he can’t find sleep. He’d rather stay with Keith while he sleeps now than reach for those usual ways to cope and even while Keith is touched by it he’s very aware of the responsibility. 

“What can I do?” he says softly, cranes up to kiss the set curve of Shiro’s jaw, and Shiro nuzzles into his hair, makes a low noise in his throat, spreads his legs. 

Shiro is still soft to the fingertip Keith presses carefully against his hole, sticky inside with Keith’s come when Shiro sighs and relaxes for him. The lube is lying out on the night table and Keith grabs it, spills more out over his hand and pushes two fingers back inside Shiro right off, watching the way the wet slide, sinking in right up to the knuckle, plays over Shiro’s face. His lips are blissfully slack when Keith kisses them, parting in a laugh when Keith licks sloppily over his cupid’s bow, bites the tip of his wrinkled nose.

“I’m ready,” Shiro says and wraps his legs around Keith’s waist, bossy. “Come on.”

Keith hesitates. Shiro might be ready, but he’s not, not just yet: he’s burning with wanting Shiro again but his cock is taking a minute to get with it after the nightmare, still only half-hard.

Shiro blinks up at him, and then does something clever with his hips that makes Keith moan, brushing his ass meaningfully against Keith’s groin. He ducks down to muffle his noise in Shiro’s shoulder, hide his face, and shakes when he feels Shiro’s fingers start to comb through his hair, adoring and understanding. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, pulls Keith’s hair a little until he’s looking up and coaxes him back down for a slow kiss, lulling Keith into a false sense of security for when he murmurs, “hey, Keith. You into this?”

“God, yes,” Keith says instantly, even though talking about it makes him mortified: he knows he’s bright red, which is not where he needs his blood to be rushing right now. “I really am.” He _is_ , just his body is a little bit behind his head.

Shiro smiles, in that way he has when he’s trying to be reassuring and not let you know how relieved he is. “Okay. Okay, good, we can still - just grab it, okay, you can just -”

“Oh my God,” Keith says painfully, but his cock hardens a little more in the tight grip of his fist and then he’s guiding himself between Shiro’s cheeks, Shiro holding himself open for it with his back arched and his head thrown back on the pillow, which is so filthy Keith might have a heart attack. It wakes him right up and his cock starts to get eager real fast when he’s easing himself into the tight warm clench of Shiro’s ass. 

Feeling himself grow hard inside Shiro is weird and wonderful and he tips forward for a hungry kiss, wet and messy, sliding his tongue between Shiro’s lips, parted and panting with how good Keith cramming his cock inside him is making him feel. That’s good, it’s good, he’s still making it work for Shiro, and he starts a careful grind of his hips, making sure he’s got Shiro’s cock caught between their abs just right.

His hand is still between them, a bit awkward. He tries to caress the taut package of Shiro’s balls but the angle is all wrong and he slips his hand down instead, helping himself along again, adding a little more lube so his quickly thickening cock is getting a nice slick fuck. 

Shiro moans when Keith’s fingers bump up against where Keith is buried deep, his eyes wide and startled, and Keith pauses, strokes uncertainly where Shiro’s hole is stretched around the tender intrusion of Keith’s cock. 

“Uh -” he starts and Shiro interrupts him to say “ _Yes_ , yeah, slow, okay,” flushed from his cheeks to his chest, his muscles clenching around Keith’s cock too arrhythmically to be deliberately. It takes about as much daring as any three missions with the Blade but Keith swallows and presses in softly, one fingertip just nudging into Shiro alongside his cock, and the shocked, ragged, almost unbearably horny noise that comes out of Shiro’s soft red mouth is a sweeter victory than any of them, all of them.

There’s definitely no more question of whether he’s hard enough. He dicks in enthusiastically, listening to the way Shiro is saying his name over and over. Having his finger squeezed against his cock makes Keith breathless, almost dizzy, when he properly thinks about it - _inside Shiro_ , Shiro letting Keith fill him up that way - but he wants to get his weight on Shiro properly, wants to fuck. He slides his finger out carefully, feeling the way Shiro clings obscenely to his cock, and grabs Shiro’s hip instead, uses it as leverage to thrust in rough and deep. 

Shiro hauls him down into a desperate kiss and that’s it: the rest is sweat and Shiro’s heels in the small of his back urging him on and breath stuttering between their mouths.

He pushes his face into the crook of Shiro’s neck as he comes, murmurs, “Love you,” knowing from the way Shiro’s fingers play in his hair that he heard. He’s never imagined it would be a promise he’d be so easily able to give, alone as he’s been for most of his life, but he’d already said the words at their very worst circumstances and he can’t give less of himself to the real, whole Shiro in his arms: it’s harder not to let them fall out of him all the time than to keep his feelings locked away inside himself.

Shiro wants to stay close when they’ve both come and cleaned up a little. Keith’s sleepy again, his eyes slipping closed and his body heavy with echoes of pleasure, and he’s docile to being arranged on his side, Shiro’s big body curled around his.

“Think you’ll sleep okay?” Shiro murmurs. He sounds protective and Keith presses more tightly back against him, brimming with how fucking lucky he is.

“Think you’ll sleep at all?” he counters, feeling Shiro’s wry laugh in response more than hearing it. Shiro’s fingers, twined with Keith’s on Keith’s stomach, are already losing their hold as Shiro slides gently towards sleep.

“I love you,” Shiro says blurrily, followed by the familiar sound of him trying to blow stray bits of Keith’s hair out of his mouth, and Keith snuggles down and lets sleep come.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/concernedlily)!


End file.
